Arm-Wrestling Will Win You a Man

If you told me it costs $20 for all-you-can-eat hors d'oeuvres and 26 people who are forced to speak with me for five minutes a piece, I'd be in heaven. Which is why you can completely understand why I decided to go straight speed-dating with a couple of friends. Nevermind that it's straight speed-dating or that I already have a partner. The important part is 26 people at five minutes a piece means 130 minutes of guaranteed conversation. I love it.

Unfortunately my speed-dating experience didn't start off with a bang. It started off with a bust. Or a bust-ed rather. So I try to fly under the radar using a fake name so that people don't know my real name. Since I'm a genius, I use my credit card which has a completely different name on it. The girl from the dating service busts me so I 'confess' that I'm nervous because I've never been speed-dating before. Works like a charm.

So it's an hour before the event and I'm in my bedroom looking through my drawers: softball t-shirt, flannel, softball t-shirt, Ani DiFranco t-shirt...hmm. Nothing suitable for pretending to look for a male date. I decide that since I need to look straight I'll borrow something from my roommate! She dresses me up in a black lacy cleavage-filled tank top with a cardigan over it. I put on my bootleg jeans with eff-me boots I bought for a sassy Halloween costume in 2006 and voila! Straighty McStraightster!

Speed-dating is actually a lot like the way it looks on TV. The girls sit on one side of a table, guys on the other and someone taps the guys on the shoulder when the five minutes is up and it's time to change partners.

So I'm taking notes on which guys I like for my friends (i.e. too dorky, too old, too douchy) and this guy sits down and stares shamelessly at my tits. So I say, "You should totally open a boobie bar. Then you could stare at girls' boobs and no one would care! Everyone looks at boobs, guys and girls."

I get into another conversation with a guy about arm-wrestling so we clear the table of the salt and pepper and proceed to have a match right in the middle of the table. I, of course, lose on purpose because I don't want to embarrass him in front of all those pretty ladies.

So at this point I'm warmed up and having a great time. I can say pretty much anything I want and who cares? I'm talking about jello wrestling and boobie bars and piercings and all kinds of trashy things (which in turn makes me think about my own white trashness since I have participated in all three of those activities). I'm not really looking for a date!

So afterwards Angela, Mari and Dave and I go back to our house to of course talk about everyone. The procedure after the dating part is everyone goes back online and puts a check by each people of interest and if there is mutual interest contact information is exchanged. Angela has this bright idea that I should check all of the guys just to see who's interested.

So 12 matches and 10 personal e-mails later I've gotten myself into a mess. What I realize however is between my jello wrestling and boobie conversations guys like complete trash! So I e-mail them all back and tell them that I recently got out of a relationship and thought I was ready but wasn't. In case you're thinking I'm a heartless bitch I did feel guilty.

So for all you guys out there reading this I understand you all want to date a lesbian. I mean, what's better than a jello-wrestling, boobie bar-attending, girl-kissing, intelligent and witty chick who can almost kick your ass in arm-wrestling but looks great in heels? NOTHING! But, I'm sure you can settle for second best and find yourself a nice, girl-next-door breeder. She probably looks better than a lesbian in jeans and eff me boots anyway.